


12 Days of TF

by kabrox18



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Advent Calendar, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Humor, Multi, holy shit i'm so sorry for all the tags aksjdkjfj
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18
Summary: A bunch of short little things to keep me sharp and get into the holiday spirit. Some shippy, some just cute. :DI'll fix the messy tags later, sorry about that :,D(rated T because I don't know how to keep a lid on my swearing XD )
Relationships: Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers), Cyclonus/Tailgate (Transformers), Megatron/Brawl (Transformers), Megatron/Minimus Ambus (Transformers), Megatron/Optimus Prime, Skyfire/Starscream (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	1. Ribbon On Top / MegOp

Optimus rubbed some soft wrapping paper between his fingers, giving a little  _ hm _ of thought.

The red was certainly nice, but… would Megatron consider it too gaudy? Maybe he ought to go with something darker. He’d already eliminated the patterned wraps.

“What are you up to?” Megatron rasped in his ear, startling him. He jumped back, guarding the present tucked in his arms and hiding it awkwardly behind his back. Hopefully he hadn’t seen it.

“You were  _ supposed _ to call me when you were done,” Optimus admonished. Megatron grinned, brows pulling down and making him look just as evil as ever.

“It’s more fun to watch you jump out of your plating.”

“I had a surprise for you. Don’t want to go and ruin it, now do you?” Optimus says, raising a brow daringly. Megatron’s grin never wavers.

“Of course not. Don’t worry, I didn’t see it. I  _ am _ done with your gift, though, so I suppose I’ll go window-shop while you finish up.” He wiggles claws at him, and Optimus shakes his head a bit, unimpressed. Still, Optimus grabs hold of his collar and pulls him into a brief kiss, then pushes away. Megatron takes a step back from the playful shove, chuckling as he takes the hint and turns to wander off.

“Now, where was I?” Optimus muses, turning back to the wrapping paper.

The idea hits him when he looks over the selection again; there was a shiny, iridescent wrap that shone both red  _ and  _ purple. It would be  _ perfect. _

He grinned to himself and picked up the roll, rushing to the counter to buy it, along with a pretty spool of silver ribbon.


	2. Happy 'Brawl'-idays / Combaticons

“ _Braaawl~!”_

“Primus below, Vortex, the slag do you want?” he demanded. Very big demands, actually, given that Brawl was currently laying facedown on the floor of their apartment. His helm throbbed angrily every time he so much as shifted, so he decided the floor wasn’t so bad.

“Aw, come on, don’t you know what today is?”

Brawl elected to just grunt; a nice, neutral answer to whatever bullshit Vortex was up to now.

“Why, Brawl! Today is 4th cycle, 012.”

“...So?” He turned his helm very slightly to squint up at the heli, who was crouched at his side—looked like he was grinning like a psychopath. In other words—no differently than normal.

Vortex made a noise of… disgust, maybe. Hard to tell with him. Doubly so with the fact he was backlit, and it made Brawl’s eyes _hurt_ just to look at him. He turned his face back to the floor, groaning.

“Today’s our holiday party, you _cretin,”_ Vortex huffed, shoving his shoulder a bit.

“Uh-huh,” Brawl uttered. “I’ll celebrate right here.”

“Like Pit you will,” Vortex mumbled, before getting up and moving away. Brawl heaved a great sigh, resigning himself to his fate. Whatever ideas Vortex got, it was rare that it would end well for whoever was involved.

A few moments later, and Brawl’s massive headache was finally beginning to ebb to a more manageable stiffness and hazy processor. It’d pick up the slack eventually… or it wouldn’t. Not that it mattered.

...Only for it to come right back when he felt sneaky hands tie something to his back-turret’s cannon.

He sat up fast as he dared, swaying as he swatted Vortex’s hands away.

“What did you put on me?!”

“Oh, you know,” Vortex said, and snapped his mask back, quickly grabbing him right by the head and planting a wet, insincere kiss on his lips. “ _Mmmmmmuah!”_

“ _Blegh!_ Agh!” Brawl spat and knuckled his mouth as Vortex cackled, skittering off before he could make to grab him. “What was that?!” he hollered. No response. Great.

Brawl made a loud, grumpy-as-Pit noise, getting his treads under himself and standing. The world didn’t sway, at least; so, satisfied with his current state of mostly-conscious, he wandered off to go get some breakfast.

—

Swindle nearly crashed into him in the hallway, and stumbled back with a funny little hop.

“Morning, Brawl,” he greeted, _far_ too chipper.

“Ugh,” he replied. Swindle seemed to notice something, double-taking.

“Oh. Uh.” His big, owlish purple eyes shuttered a few times in rapid succession.

“What? Something on my face? Did I get into a bad fight again?” He ran his tongue against his teeth, counting them to ensure they’re all there.

“No. You uh,” Swindle said, gesturing to the space behind his own head. Brawl glared.

“Out with it, already.”

“Is that _mistletoe?”_

“Missile- _what?”_

“No no, not _missile-tow,_ MISTLETOE. It’s a plant, usually grown around the holidays.” He tapped his chin, going on tiptoe to try and get a better look. Brawl growled and leaned away.

“Vortex stuck it to me.”

“Well. I ought to tell you how it’s used, then,” Swindle concluded, settling back on his heels. “Squishies usually hang it in doorways, and anyone that crosses the threshold has to kiss the nearest person.”

“That’s a load of slag,” he huffed, squinting.

“No, no, really!”

“So, what? Vortex hung it on me—“

“—To get you to kiss everyone, probably to embarrass yourself,” Swindle finished, nodding. “Well, I’ll spare you the humiliation.” He flicked his wallet out, pulling a fistful of shanix chips from the change pocket and dumping them in Brawl’s _far larger_ hand. “Take this and get yourself a drink.”

“Thanks. I think,” Brawl replied, and stashed the chips.

“‘Course, bud,” Swindle said brightly, and gave him a pat on the forearm before circling around him, humming away.

Brawl shook his head once he was around the corner, heaving a sigh. Swindle was fucking _weird._

_At least,_ he mused as he grabbed a cube and plunked on the couch to drink, _it’s just kissing. Could be worse._

‘How’ wasn’t something he cared to consider as he knocked back half the cube in one long draw.

He could take the damn plant off his turret, anyways; it was just… _difficult_ to reach the end of it without having help. Maybe he’d just give that hypothetical drink to Onslaught in exchange for plucking the stupid little sprig off.

Speak of the pitspawn—Onslaught tromped in the door with Blast Off in tow.

“G’mornin’,” Brawl grunted in their general direction.

“Good morning, Brawl,” Blast Off replied, prim as always.

“What are you doing up already?” Onslaught asked, inclining his head. It’s not a demand, not directly anyway, but Brawl felt that prickle of demand in the undercurrent of his tone.

“Wishing I was already passed out from engex overdose,” he replied, amiably. He downed the rest of his morning cube and set it aside.

“Shame we don’t have any liquor, then,” Onslaught replied in turn, something chilly in his words. Brawl doesn’t register the tone, because he’s too busy balking at _what_ was said instead of _how._

“The party’s tonight,” he blurted out.

“Yes, and Blast Off and I agreed you’d just drink yourself into a coma again and make the party a bunch of awkward sitting around. Why not cut out the middlemech and just hang around glaring at each other?” Ons turned at that, helmet inclined inquisitively.

“I… uh…” Brawl struggled past the last vestiges of his hangover, trying and failing to come up with a decent response. Especially in light of what he’d just said, like the blazing idiot he was.

“Exactly.” It wasn’t smug, just… knowing, maybe. Brawl felt the armor on his back raise in irritation. Blast Off came over, eying him a bit.

“What’s with the—”

“Tex’s fault,” he interrupted. Blast Off cocked a brow at that, but leant over the back of the couch anyway, and pecked Brawl right on the tip of his nose.

“Tradition,” the shuttle offered by way of explanation, shrugging one-shouldered and making his way back to the apartment’s kitchenette. Brawl scrubbed his face in a hand, hoping the pink dusting his cheeks was invisible on the dark grey of his face.

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” Onslaught said, coming over as well. Brawl opened his mouth to protest getting kissed by his own _boss,_ but Ons just leant down, holding him still and giving him a brief press on the lips. Slapped him on the shoulder-tread, straightened, and walked off like it was nothing.

Brawl attempted to restart his synthesizer three separate times, and failed each.

“I think you broke him,” Vortex said, giggling. He moves to go in and steal a kiss again himself, but Brawl finally managed to make himself react, and grabbed the heli by the face.

“Don’t,” he croaked, giving a squeeze to ensure Tex understood the threat. More giggles rose from his hand, but Vortex obligingly backed off.

“Love you too, Brawly,” he teased. The tank flipped him the bird in response, prompting more giggling.

“That’s enough, you two,” Onslaught called. “Come on, we’re going to get ready for the party.”

“So _early?”_

“Yes.”

“Guess I had nothin’ better to do,” Brawl mused, and got off the couch. Vortex trailed after him, rotors clattering.

—

The ‘party’ involved going down to Maccadam’s, Onslaught politely ordering a round of non-engex drinks, and then grabbing the waiter and _less_ politely informing them that Brawl was to have _nothing_ with liquor in it, under threat of siccing Vortex on them.

Tex just inclined his head, _clearly_ grinning. The slagger.

Later, Brawl catches the waiter, urging them down; Onslaught and Blast Off have gone elsewhere, and Vortex is off entertaining other pub-goers with his balancing act.

“How much do I gotta pay you to get some liquor?” he asks, glancing to his teammates as if they’re going to hear him over the din.

“Enough to pay my medical bills from your creepy friend,” the waiter answers, flat. Brawl fishes around a minute, coming up with a fistful of shanix at best.

“Spawn of a glitch,” he mutters under his breath, and shakes his head. “No. But I’ll go pound Tex into scrap while you watch?” he offers, tilting his head.

“Sorry bud, take it up with your… whoever-he-was.”

“My boss,” Brawl laments. “I guess I better go talk to him anyways.” The waiter gives him a funny look.

“You do that, pal,” they say, and walk off to check on some other patrons.

“Brawl,” Onslaught greets. He’s flushed a healthy pink, a bottle of something that looks and smells like radioactive waste held in one hand.

“Oh, so _you_ can drink, but I can’t?” he demands, sticking his armored fists on equally armored hips. Onslaught just smiles at him, that _haughty_ obnoxious smile he usually reserves for when people can’t actually see his face and want to punch him.

“You can’t drink because you’ll drink Blurr’s bar dry,” he points out. Whatever the odorous swill in his bottle, it wasn’t terribly strong; Ons was still speaking perfectly clearly and didn’t sway as he moved. “Me, I’m just having the one.” He raises the bottle to point at him. “If you could discipline yourself, I’d let you.”

“You’re a _smarmy_ fragger, Ons, I’ll give you that,” he snaps.

“And you still have that stupid plant on your turret,” he observes, visor tipping up.

“Yeah? What about—“

Onslaught grabs him by the collar, that tiny gap between the hydraulics and cabling of his neck and the flat plate of his chest, and yanks him down into another kiss. It’s so abrupt that there’s no getting out of it, so Brawl kind of tilts his head a little to stop Ons’ nose from jabbing at his, and tolerates it.

It’s actually kinda _nice,_ once he gets past the _‘fragging HELL, Onslaught’_ that’s running circles in his head. He doesn’t move to deepen it or anything, but he does brace a hand on the wall, letting it drag out for a little longer. Onslaught eventually releases him, looking even _smugger,_ if it were possible. Brawl wipes his mouth with his thumb, not sure whether to break Ons’ nose right then and there, or walk away, or maybe kiss him again.

“Here’s that plant, by the way.” Onslaught holds the little sprig up, and Brawl takes it, still kind of dazed.

“Thanks,” he says, and wanders off.

He takes another look at the little green thing, hardly the length of his finger.

  
 **“VORTEX! THIS IS** **_HOLLY,_ ** **YOU SLAG-EATING PIECE OF SCRAP METAL!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh i had SO much fun with this one. >:D
> 
> Took me both days to write it tho, and I wrote a bunch at work, so hopefully there's not any like. super glaring errors. :,3
> 
> ... _i love brawl so much >w>_


	3. Ugly Sweater Contest / MiniMegs

“I wasn’t aware that these kinds of textiles were made to this scale,” Minimus muses aloud.

“Cybertronians do knit,” Megatron counters, as he smooths out the eyesore green-and-brown sweater he’d just tugged on. It’s _gigantic,_ but still form-fits around the bulk of his chest. There’s holes for his barrel and guard; he had to have this particular article of clothing custom-tailored because of them. It’s more of a vest, really, but it still fits the parameters well enough to compete in Rodimus’ silly contest.

“Yes, I’ve considered taking it up myself,” Minimus replies, smoothing out his own terrible sweater. It has lights in it that blink. He straightens the sleeves out, setting hands on his hips. “Well. I think we’re both ready, unless one of us has forgotten something?”

“Only this,” Megatron replies, and leans down to lightly kiss his forehead. Minimus smiles, cheeks turning a little pink. “Now, let’s make our way down to Swerve’s,” he says, turning.

“Right,” Minimus replies, a little dumb still. He shakes it off quickly and reaches up to take Megatron’s far larger hand, curling his own deceptively soft fingers in the far rougher metal of his partner’s.

—

Even away from Swerves by a deck and some fair distance, the party was audible; faint shouts and the rise and fall of cheerful music met the two of them as they walked.

“Sounds like it’s going to be _interesting,”_ Megatron murmurs, the ruddy light of his eyes shifting.

“That’s certainly a word for it,” Minimus agreed, fiddling with his moustache. He looks up, over to Megatron, examining the hardened lines of his face and the small, permanent frown etched in. It vanishes when Megatron looks down to him, smiling faintly.

“We can take a corner to ourselves, if you prefer,” he offers.

“Yes, I think that’d be lovely. Rodimus has been asking me to try this organic drink he calls ‘eggnog’, but otherwise I’d like to just sit and chat.”

“Naturally,” his conjunx agrees. “I’ll try it with you, if you’d like.”

“That… would be nice,” Minimus replies, finding himself all aflutter.

“Well, let’s, then.” That giant hand lightly squeezes his own, and he feels like he’s walking on air.

—

Rodimus steps up to the front of the bar, hollering over the laughter, drunken caroling, and general noisy merriment occurring at Swerve’s.

“Alright everybody!” he calls, getting most everyone’s attention. “It’s time for the ugly sweater contest! Our judges tonight are Riptide, Drift, and the big cheese of this beloved little hole-in-the-wall, Swerve!”

“I didn’t know he knew what ‘beloved’ meant,” Minimus says, giggling and leaning against Megatron. He was a bit tipsy from the ‘eggnog’, which was actually rather sweet and pleasant to drink, a far cry from most of what Swerve sold.

“He can be smart, sometimes,” Megatron teases right back, a flush on his own cheeks.

“Alright, let’s take a look at these sweaters!” Swerve calls, rubbing his hands together and grinning. Everyone participating in the contest stood, moving to line up.

And so it went; each patron was given the judgement, and it was all tallied up by a dutiful Drift, who had a pad and lightpen at the ready to keep track of scores. After everyone was judged, the three scooted together, conspiring and whispering and pointing.

“The winners are,” Riptide started, and stood up, waving his hands around, “Megatron and Minimus! I think those are supposed to be deer, but they kind of look like earthlet poop,” he says, pointing to Minimus’ terrible little sweater.

“The lights are terrible!” Swerve adds, giggling.

“And Megatron, a vest? Really? That barely counts!” Drift chides. “It does not do you any favors, sir.” He’s grinning, crookedly, and Megatron finds himself bubbling with hearty laughter. Minimus joins him, and they happily accept the reward—a batch of mineral-cookies loaded with sweet energon chunks, string lights for their habs, and a picture frame.

“That went well,” Minimus said, interspersed with uncontrollable giggling.

“It did,” Megatron agreed, more-than-happily carrying their prizes.

“Back to our hab?”

“Definitely. I’d like to go to bed early,” he replies, pulling a face. Rodimus is saying something to the crowd, even as the pair slip out into the hall.

“I think I have the perfect picture for that frame,” Minimus muses, and starts the walk back.

“Oh? What would that be?”

“That cute picture of you, dozing in your office.”

“Oh. Well, that would be… something.”

“That’s certainly a word for it, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if that cuts off a little weirdly, i wasn't sure how i wanted to end it ;w;
> 
> still. minimegs!! [sparkly hearts]


	4. Wreckin' Around the Christmas Tree / Wreckers

Impactor stepped into the planetary station’s hub-room, being met with excessively colorful strings of lights and cheery green decor.

“Happy holidays, ‘Pactor!” Whirl shrilly hollered, strung up in lights. He looked… suspiciously, almost _hogtied_ . The rest of the Wreckers were equally suspiciously _busy._

Ironfist passed by with a can of something in his hand, but was caught by the collar. Impactor pulled him back with his hook, giving the other mech a _look._

“Springer’s fault,” he deadpanned, holding his hands up in a _I’m-not-dealing-with-it_ gesture.

“Really now. I have to reserve doubts that Springer did this.” Impactor glanced to Whirl again, who is wriggling in his colorful, blinking bindings.

“Take it up with him, then!” Ironfist gestured with the can, then took a sip.

“Fine,” he sighed, and released his teammate. Ironfist wandered off, and right about then is when Springer and Kup step in, Springer held by one of his helm-swoops.

“You better untie him, or Primus help me—“ Kup was grousing.

“He’s fine,” Springer insisted, wincing.

“He don’t look fine to me!” Kup snapped, and stepped right up to Whirl, who ceased in his wiggling and batted his eye up at the pair. Impactor wandered over, curious more than anything.

“I’ll mix you a drink if you let me out?” Whirl tried, looking at Springer.

“I can do that myself,” he replied. “What I really want for you to do, is to _not cause chaos_ during the party."

“Oh, c’mon Springs, you know me,” he wheedled. “Not chaotic! Not in the least!”

Impactor coughed.

“Boss, all due respect or whatever, but shut up.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Impactor countered, folding his arms. He grinned a little, though. Kup frowned at the two of them, and knelt to untie Whirl himself.

“You youngins are gunna have to learn to play nice,” he started, and Whirl giggled. It was a _rather_ dangerous sound, one that Kup ignored.

“That’s a bad idea—” Springer tried.

Whirl was freed, and immediately blasted past Impactor to the not-really-a-kitchen kitchen, grabbing the first container of booze he saw and cackling. Impactor stood his ground, rolling his eyes skyward and then promptly dropping his head into his hand, defeated.

“Guess we might as well join him,” he muttered. Kup grinned crookedly.

“Exactly. Loosen up, the both of you! It’s the holiday season, and why, in my time—”

Impactor pulled a face, ignoring the story and circling around to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle out of Whirl’s hand and taking a swallow.

“You aren’t getting drunk without me,” he threatened.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.” He blinked. “That was a wink, by the way.”

“Right.”

“I guess it just wouldn’t be a holiday with the Wreckers if we didn’t go about the base drunkenly caroling,” Springer conceded as he joined them.

“Exactly!” Whirl exclaimed, and stole the bottle back, taking a sip.

Springer just shook his head, moving to take a seat.


	5. Big Windows / Team Prime

Night blanketed Jasper, Nevada. Golden light pooled from facades and lampposts, dressing the street in a certain strange serenity.

“Why did you want to come here, again?” Arcee questioned. She was rolling along slowly, attention mostly fixed on Jack and the road itself.

“Window shopping, Arcee,” he answered, and nudged her to park near the sidewalk. He slid off, jogging up to one of the huge, brightly-lit storefront windows.

Jasper was tiny, but its main street was lined by more shops like this. Small family businesses, local toymakers and antiquarians, petite home-cooking restaurants and artisans all put forth their best work during the holiday season. Every window was painted, marked with new deals and images of plants Arcee didn’t really recognize, and animals she only vaguely knew the name of.

“I pinged Bulkhead and Bumblebee to meet us,” she commented idly, turning a mirror to glance around.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Raf was talking about magic, or something, when I commed.”

“He’s still younger,” Jack said, rubbing at the back of his neck almost awkwardly. Arcee felt a tickle of amusement as she carefully shifted modes, crouching near the sidewalk.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he still believes in Santa and stuff,” Jack explained. Arcee merely cocks a brow, only further puzzled by this elaboration.

“Tell me later,” she said when he opens his mouth. “Bulkhead’s signal just popped up on proximity,” she added, standing.

“—is really pretty,” Jack managed to catch from Bulkhead. He rolled up, stopping and popping his door open for Miko to wriggle out.

“What’s poppin’?” she asked, grinning.

“We’re  _ window shopping.” _ Arcee still looked bemused by it all, but looked to Jack to let him continue.

“I wanted to pick something up for my mom, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what else they’ve got around here.”

“I’m not gunna swap gifts with my host parents, but I’ll get something for Bulkhead. Maybe send something home.” Miko shrugged, looking over to her guardian. Bulkhead seemed a little bashful at that, ducking into his armor and nudging at the ground.

“Aw, Miko. You don’t gotta get me anything. I know how big a deal the holiday season is for humans.”

“Yeah, and you’re a pretty big deal to me too!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up to encompass him.

“What’d we miss?” Raf asked as he and Bumblebee joined the group.

“Nothing much,” Jack replied, turning. “I’m trying to figure out something to get my mom.”

“Oh, I should find something for my family too. We usually do secret Santa swaps.” He pulled out a scrap of paper. “I’ve got my brother.”

“Well, there’s plenty to look at. Most of the stores went all-out.”

“I’ll call Ratchet,” Arcee decided. “Go on and check stuff out. You two wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on them, would you?”

“Not at all,” Bulkhead replied.

“Bwoo-woop!” Bumblebee added, doorwings fluttering. The two walk off, following their human compatriots. Arcee smiled to herself, turning.

“Hey, Ratch. It’s me, we’re down on the corner of Main and Sunrise.”

“What are you three doing?” the medic queried. There’s a soft sound in the background, and murmuring. “Talking to Arcee,” he says, voice fainter. He’s turned away, probably talking to Optimus.

“We’re doing something the kids call  _ ‘window shopping’.” _

“Ah, I have heard of such practices from Mrs. Darby,” Optimus said. So she was right.

“I hope you’re not planning to stay out much longer. Not in root, anyway,” Ratchet muttered, a note of scolding in his tone.

“Hardly,” Optimus hummed. “They will be back on time, Ratchet. It  _ is _ the holiday season. Allow them to… stretch their legs, as it were.” Arcee rolled her eyes fondly at the gentle bickering.

“We won’t be long,” she agreed. “I’m going to look around a little myself, see what this human holiday season is like.”

“I would be happy to tell you more about it when you return,” Optimus rumbled.

“You always tell such nice stories. Good incentive,” Ratchet murmured, just softly enough that it was almost inaudible across comm. “I’ll be waiting for the lot of you with some fuel.”

“Got it, Arcee out.” She cut the line, shaking her head mildly as he turned to catch up with the others.

“So?” Bulkhead asked.

“Ratchet wants us to be home soonish.” She shrugged, and looked over to another store. Bumblebee was crouched, listening to Rafael ramble excitedly about a new set of headphones he was hoping to get. Jack strolled past a jewelry store, pausing to look at a display with simple rings and necklaces.

“Do you think Mom would like one?” he asked aloud. Miko leaned in, pursed her lips, and made a funny noise.

“Your mom doesn’t seem like the ring type. Maybe a necklace would be better, or some earrings,” she offered. Jack nodded and pulled his phone out, typing something and murmuring to himself.

“Okay, got my shopping list together,” he said, and stuffed it back in his pocket.

“Mine too,” Miko chirped, and grinned impishly over to Bulkhead.

“... Annnd, mine is done too,” Raf said, flipping his own phone shut and pushing his glasses up. “I’ll come back tomorrow to grab everything.”

“Mind if I join?” Jack asked. “After my class, anyway.”

“Sure. You wanna come too, Miko?”

“Heck yeah! Wouldn’t miss it for anything.” She gave a thumbe-up, and the bots all clustered in.

“Size before beauty.” Arcee waved ahead, looking to Bulkhead with a teasing grin. He laughed and dropped into alt, opping his door for Miko to clamber back in. Bee followed suit, giving a cheerful  _ honk _ of his horn before he peeled off. Arcee looked to Jack, who was still staring off at the various storefronts.

“Something on your mind?”

“I just… really like this time of year,” he replied, faintly. “Everyone is so happy, and nice to each other, and it seems like all the world’s problems kind of… fade for a little while. Even though the days are shorter and colder, it still feels really warm.” He looked to her, then, and she returned his soft smile.

“It  _ is _ nice,” she agreed. “You’re right about it making things seem a lot better.” She sighed a little. “I think we all need this boost, honestly. Even you kids.”

“Man, you can say that again.”

“Come on, Optimus is going to tell us about what he’s learned of your traditions, and I don’t wanna miss out.” She stepped back to transform elegantly, plating folding back into place with a satisfying  _ click. _ Jack chuckled and went to hop on.

“I don’t want Ratchet to get up in arms, either,” he said, and laughed a little as she took off.

“Oh, Primus forbid that,” she said, and let her own laughter intermingle with her friend’s.


	6. Tree Topper / Starfire

“Have you gotten the top of the tree done yet?” Starscream whined, slouching into his chair to pout over at Skyfire. He had a headband with little springy holiday lights like antenna that wobbled comically atop his head at the motion.

“I’ve not even started.” He looked up from his novel, seeming puzzled, and looked to his bondmate. “I hadn’t known you wanted me to yet.”

“Of course I do!” Starscream squawked. “You know I can’t reach up there!” Skyfire, despite himself, chuckled good-naturedly at his partner’s antics.

“Well, you could always  _ ask,” _ Skyfire replied, and sipped at his drink, looking back down at his book. Not paying attention to Starscream was the number-one way to get him to behave. Usually, anyway. At least the holidays made him a  _ little _ more pleasant… to everyone else. Skyfire was lucky in that regard.

“Can you  _ please _ decorate the top of the tree?” Starscream asked, moving to squirm onto his lap instead, like a fluttery cat. Skyfire laughs to himself at that, hurriedly setting his stuff aside to pay more attention to Starscream. All it earned him was more pouty seeker and more insistent fluttering.

“Well, when you ask like  _ that, _ how’s a mech to resist?” Starscream grins, and leans in, smooching him.

“You can’t! That’s why it works.” He sounded so  _ delighted. _ It put an even bigger smile on Skyfire’s face.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, and sets Starscream down, standing. “You and your silly tree…” He shook his head fondly.

“Humans do have the  _ occasional _ good idea,” he drawled. “Megatron insisted on other means of celebrating. Something to do with candles. I don’t know, I tuned him out,” he admits, rolling his eyes.

“Let’s just focus on our tree,” Skyfire said, and reached into the box, pulling out ornaments. “Do you want to put the star on top?”

“I  _ am _ the star on top.” Starscream grinned, but pulled it out too. “Of course I want to, so you better help me up.” He pauses. “Please?”

“Of course.”

Starscream lifts his arms a bit, adjusting his wings and permitting Skyfire to carefully lift him, bracing an arm around his knees and holding him steady. Starscream hummed, happily putting the topper on and arranging it nicely.

“Just let me plug it in…” he mumbles, sticking his tongue out and finagling with the light cord. The star lights up in a pretty shade of blue, and Skyfire lightly sets him on his feet.

“You definitely picked a good one.”

“So did you,” Starscream replied, and leaned to kiss his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written this pairing before. can ya tell? :,)


	7. Mine's Better / CDRW, Cygate, Starfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST THIS I WAS TOO BUSY PLAYING UNREAL TOURNAMENT 2004

“Looks like Starscream’s started decorating already,” Tailgate noted, hanging onto the window and peering over the sill.

“Yes,” Cyclonus agreed, pulled from his introspection. He looks down to his conjunx, tilting his head slightly. “Are you thinking about doing the same?”

“The same as  _ Starscream? _ Heh, no,” he said, something mischievous in his tone. “I was thinking about one-upping him, honestly. Just for fun. And to annoy him.”

“I will never understand such things,” Cyclonus declared, folding his arms loosely.

“Okay, but consider: annoying Starscream.” Tailgate stepped back from the window and spread his hands. He sounded deceptively innocent.

“You expect me to help?”

“Only help reaching stuff, I know you’re a passive-observer-type, Cyc,” he teased.

“Very well,” he sighed.

“Great! I’ll call Rewind and Chromedome and see if they wanna join in and help.” Cyclonus said nothing, but inwardly winced. Anything involving these three would rapidly get…  _ out of hand. _

—

Chromedome quickly sat up from his slouch and put the datapad in his hands to sleep when he saw Rewind come jogging in. No need to let his bondmate see what he was getting him.

“Tailgate just called,” he reported.

“Oh? What’d he want?”

“He asked if we wanted to partake in ‘annoying Starscream’. I asked what he meant by  _ that, _ and he explained that they’re going to out-decorate him.”

“They who? Him and  _ Cyclonus?” _ Chromedome asked incredulously. Cyclonus was hardly the type.

“Well, yeah. I figure Cyclonus is only going to help a little. That’s how it usually goes, at least.”

“Well…” Chromedome leans back, looking thoughtful a beat. “Annoying Starscream  _ does _ sound pretty fun… and I don’t have anything better planned.”

“Great! Let’s go grab our decorations.”

—

Starscream flounces up to the big window, peering outside.

And  _ frowns. _

“What’s the matter?” Skyfire asks.

“Tailgate’s busy trying to outdo me.”

“What?” He comes over, puzzled. He leans down to peek out as well.

Sure enough, Cyclonus and Tailgate are outside, stringing lights up around their door. They already have ornaments and garland out. As they watch, Tailgate winds together lights and tinsel, then looks to Cyclonus. Cyclonus obligingly lifts him up, allowing him to arrange the decor perfectly.

“Well…” Starscream starts, “you know what this means, don’t you?” His tone is coy, and he looks over his shoulder.

“I have a feeling I will very shortly.”

“This means war,” he said, squinting back at the window, as if it too had participated in this.


	8. Toasty

“Ravage: must hold still,” Soundwave urged. Ravage, unconvinced, hissed and swatted at his hand angrily. Soundwave managed to dodge the swipe, and waggled a finger scoldingly.

“Get that infernal thing away!”

“Counter: Ravage would look very cute,” he insisted, and moved to get the little tailored sweater on the cassetticon. Ravage hissed again, making to duck under his arms. Soundwave twisted to catch him again, plopping him right back on the couch. Ravage yowled angrily, attempting to take off again.

Rumble leaned back from his place peeping around the corner, and grinned over his shoulder to his twin. Frenzy was wearing a matching grin.

“Pops is still busy. We gotta get the rest of the stuff wrapped up A-S-A-P.”

“Can do.” Frenzy gave a mock-salute, scampering off to the back room. “We’ve got a little bit of time, Ravage is still fighting back against the sweater,” he explained in one big puff. Laserbeak nodded and hopped over to help finish wrapping her joint gift with Buzzsaw. Ratbat gave a hearty squeak and slapped the last bit of tape on their gift to Soundwave. The blue wrapping was a bit uneven, but looked well-done otherwise. 

Frenzy picked it up to set it with the others, the pile growing steadily. All the cassettes had gotten him something—all twenty of them. He stepped back and set his little fists on equally little hips, grinning crookedly.

“Alright, just the birds, and we’re done!” he proclaims, turning. Buzzsaw was placing the ribbon on top, and Laserbeak stuck the sticker beside it.

“Now to get him in,” Rumble mused from the doorway. “Places, everybody! We’ve got our plan!” Every one of them—even Rumble and Frenzy themselves—ducked into various hiding-spots.

Ravage, right on cue, bolted in and hid as well. Soundwave came to the door, a sourness overtaking his bond with the cassetticons.

“Sweater: required for family photo,” he said as he turned into the room at large. “Ravage: knows this is part of tradition.” He paused, confused at the empty room. “Rav? Here kitty-kitty,” he coaxed, monotone dipping a step. “Pspspsspss.” He moved to kneel down, only for the cassettes to all pop out of their hiding places, startling him back to his feet.

“Happy holidays!” They chorused. Rumble and Frenzy high-fived; everyone had been right on time. All that practice paid off.

“Cassettes: arranged surprise for me?” Soundwave asks, soft.

“We sure did! And we all got you something, too!” Slugfest shouts. Laserbeak squawks and flits over to the pile of presents, perching lightly atop the stack. Soundwave turns, giving a gasp of delight.

“Cassettes: are wonderful and sweet,” he says, and scoops a group into his arms, petting them and tapping his mask to their heads. It earns him lots of happy whoops and beeps and chirps, and he moves to sit, grabbing the first present.

He pauses, though, and looks around.

“Query: where is Ravage?”

“Right here,” Ravage says, revealing himself. “Me running off was part of our plan to bring you to this room,” he admits.

“Grandmaster Cattington: will wear sweater?” he asked. He held it up, and Ravage heaved a put-upon sigh.

“Yes, I suppose I can wear the sweater,” he concedes, and moves to pounce up onto Soundwave’s lap, allowing himself to be arranged into the silly little red sweater.

“Ravage: looks very cute,” Soundwave declares, and smooths his hand down Ravage’s back. “Assessment: cuteness hypothesis was correct.”

“Yes, yes, you were right,” Ravage agrees, amused as he curls up. The other cassetticons join him, snuggling up to Soundwave to watch him open his gifts. Buzzsaw drops a camera on the table, pecking the timer button and moving to join his family for the group photo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm love soundwave ;_;
> 
> bit of a dedication to my partner
> 
> <3


	9. Movie Night / Metal AU Gang

“So, I found this  _ whole genre _ of movies, all central around this one holiday season on Earth. Hundreds of movies! All different styles and sorts, and the best part? Almost every single one is available for us to watch,” Swerve nattered excitedly.

“Really? That’s great!” Evening Star replied. She looked over to her sister, and grinned a little. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Maybe?” Sola looked over. “Are you thinking about a movie night too?”

“Sure am. With some baked goodies from the movies, if you like them.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll drop a text in the group chat,” she said, and whipped out her phone, tapping away.

Star’s phone pinged in her pocket as she stood, and went to start collecting baking supplies. Swerve hopped out of his chair and hurried to get the chairs and tables arranged for a  _ proper _ movie night. Sola wandered out after him to help.

_ Bee-beep! _

Star pulled her phone out finally to glance at it.

_ No-can-do. Recording booth sesh tonight. _

“Aw.” So no Megatron. Orion seemed happy to come, though. Optimus, too. Rung was busy handling something at home, but Max was just on a run to the store and could grab some snacks to go with their cookies.

_ Get some chips, would ya? _ Sola asked.

_ Yeah, sure, _ he replied.

“You need anything for baking stuff?” Sola called from the living room.

“Nope, I’m good,” she replied, and put her phone away to dig out some drinks and other snacky foods.

“We got some movies picked out,” Swerve said when Star came out of the kitchen.

“Perfect! Megs said he couldn’t come, and Rung is busy, but everyone else should be able to come hang out.”

“Aw what? Megatron said he was free earlier.” Sola looked over the back of the couch, frowning.

“Guess his schedule changed,” Star replied, shrugging.

“Lame.” Sola sat back down.

“Fort Max shouldn’t be long,” Swerve mentioned. “Do we need any more chairs?” Evening Star looped around, doing a mental headcount.

“Nope, I think that’s it! I’ll go get myself ready for baking, go ahead and put on the first movie you have queued up.” Swerve grinned and hopped down off the couch, going to grab the TV remote.

—

_ “Rudolph, with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?” _

“This movie is fuckin’ weird,” Sola complained from her place sandwiched between Swerve and Fort Max.

“Shhh!” Orion hissed. He never looked away from the movie. Sola stuck her tongue out at him, and Max jostled her lightly, asking her wordlessly to be nice. She rolled her eyes, but settled back down.

“I brought in some more cookies,” Star whispered, setting them out on the table. Hands immediately reached out for some, retreating with fresh, warm baked goodies.

“You’re such a bomb-ass cook, Star,” Sola said, munching on a big bite.

“Thanks.” She laughed quietly as Swerve lightly elbowed her.


End file.
